Sea Of Ghosts Part 29

'He's turning,' Howlish said. 'Too late, too late.'

At the last instant, the other vessel began to turn aside, but it was a futile manoeuvre.

The yacht struck the stern of the warship with an impact that almost knocked Briana off her feet. From the rear came a great crash of timbers and groan of metal. Men stumbled and fell across the rain-swept deck. The Haurstaf ship yawed wildly, her hull actually rising a few feet out of the water. The yacht kept coming, her vast momentum carrying her along as she sc.r.a.ped along the side of the warship with a juddering shriek. For an instant the two vessels were almost side by side. They began to part.

And then a second concussion thudded through the warship's timbers. Granger's yacht broke away, turning downwind as the man-o'-war rocked heavily and righted itself. In the Haurstaf wheelhouse, the helmsman fought against the wheel. The first officer steadied himself and rushed over to the comspool.

'Port-side guns,' Howlish said. 'All of them.'

'We're still turning, sir.'

Howlish scowled at the helmsman. 'Close haul.'

The helmsman was still struggling with the wheel. 'I can't . . . I think we've lost our rudder, captain.'

The captain snorted. 'Then how can we possibly possibly be turning be turning into into the wind?' the wind?'

'I don't know, sir.'

But it was true. The man-o'-war continued to pivot, as some unseen force pushed it into the very face of the gale, turning their broadside away from the departing yacht. The mainsail and jib began to luff. They were losing control.

The whole warship gave a sudden, violent jerk.

Captain Howlish fell against the navigation console. Briana grabbed the first officer's arm to steady herself. From somewhere aft came a long, low groan.

The man-o'-war began to move backwards.

Shouts came from outside. Howlish threw open the wheel-house door to better hear his crewmen, admitting a blast of rain and wind. Briana lifted the hood of her whaleskin cloak and moved over beside him. 'Trouble?' she asked.

Three crewmen clung to the p.o.o.p deck, leaning over the taffarell as they examined the wrecked stern by the light of a gem lantern. One of them was shouting something, but the wind stole his voice.

Howlish waved a fourth crewman over. 'What is going on?'

The man looked up and said, 'We've been harpooned, sir.'

'What?'

'A dragon harpoon, captain. Biggest one I've ever seen. It's buried deep in the stern post, down at the waterline. She's using it to tow us.'

'Tow us?'

'Aye, Captain. The steam yacht is towing us behind her.'

CHAPTER 14.

HOW TO SINK A SHIP.

Granger turned off the gas torch, lifted his mask and examined the cable welds with eyes blurred by exhaustion. He had secured the heavy tow line by wrapping it around three of the gun deck's steel-reinforced dragon-bone arches before finally welding it fast. He glanced over at the rearmost cannon hatch, through which the cable disappeared. The bulkhead had buckled under the strain, but it would hold well enough. Raising the back of the gun carriage with a chain winch had allowed him to give the harpoon the required trajectory down into the stern post where it met the waterline but the recoil had badly damaged the old cannon itself.

Finding everything secure, he wondered if he ought to check on the engines. He was pushing them close to their design limits. But he felt too weary to venture down there right now. The helm was locked on course, the man-o'-war secured behind him, and he had fuel enough to drag the b.a.s.t.a.r.d for a hundred leagues more than enough to take them where he needed to go. The thing about men-o'-war was that they had a deep draught. And the thing about the Excelsior Excelsior was that she had much a shallower draught. And that was going to make her mightily easy to ground in coastal waters. was that she had much a shallower draught. And that was going to make her mightily easy to ground in coastal waters.

But now he badly needed sleep.

He wandered aft to the emperor's private suite.

Hu's living areas comprised a warren of deeply l.u.s.trous rosewood, hauled up from undersea forests. Some of the blood-coloured beams looked thousands of years old. Free-flowing part.i.tions and arches made from the boughs of once-living trees divided the s.p.a.ce between the hull into numerous nooks, each illuminated by a different-coloured gem lantern. It gave the impression of wandering through a woodland carnival. The furniture had been made in the same style, all rich dark curves lacquered to a high sheen the sort of rustic elegance popular in Losoto that was neither rustic nor, Granger felt, particularly elegant.

In the largest of these convoluted wooded s.p.a.ces Granger found an enormous circular bed set on eight gilt pedestals, each carved into the image of Hu himself. He frowned at it with disapproval but sat down anyway and took off his boots. He lay back into a mattress as soft as air and found himself staring up at his own grotesque reflection. The emperor had fitted a mirror to the ceiling. He sat up again and rubbed his eyes and went to find the head.

Hundreds of bottles, tins and jars packed the wooden shelves above the sink a formidable collection of perfumes, lotions, medicines and creams. Granger picked up a jar of Potelemy's Canker Sore Solution, popped it open and sniffed the contents. The odour brought a brief smile to his face. Permanganate of potash. He'd once had Banks and Creedy mix this stuff with bottles of Doctor Cooper's Famous Sweet.w.a.ter to make liquid fire. They'd poured the lot down the air shaft of an enemy bunker in Dunbar. With the right mixture of toiletries you could burn a man's skin clean off.

While he took a p.i.s.s he let his gaze wander over the shelves b.u.t.terflower Soap, Parafranio's Wonder Water, Sparkling Eye Drops, Face Polish, Silk l.u.s.tre Dust, Royal Lady Skin Soft Cream, Fragrance of the Glade mentally sorting the explosive components and combustibles from the useless stuff. Most of these powders and potions cost more than he'd made in a month's soldiering. Even the tins could be utilized by submerging them in lye and filling balloons with the explosive gas given off. It appalled him that any man could waste such potential by slapping it on his face.

He flushed the head, then went back to the bed chamber and eased his wounded body down into the sheets. That horrible, burning-eyed visage stared back at him from the mirror in the ceiling. It occurred to him that Ianthe might look through his eyes, so he closed them. He lay there for a long time, gazing into the darkness behind his eyelids, thinking about her. Then he got up again and went back to the head. He took the jar of Royal Lady Skin Soft Cream from the shelf and weighed it in his hand. Stupid thing. But he opened the jar anyway and scooped some out and rubbed it into the leathery folds of his face.

After he'd finished, he lay back down on the bed. That hideous face in the ceiling mirror, now daubed with white cream, mocked him. Granger grabbed the sheets and pillows from the bed and set off back to the bridge. It made more sense to sleep there, after all.

'What do you want?' Briana asked.

Maskelyne looked up from his writing desk. 'Sister Marks,' he said. He set down his pencil and stood up. 'Actually, I want to help you.'

Briana glanced around the stateroom. This luxurious accommodation was usually reserved for visiting clients, and no expense had been spared on the deep Evensraum rugs, gilt furniture and clamsh.e.l.l lantern shades. Lucille was reclining on a white leather carasole bench with a gla.s.s of wine in her hand. Her bruises looked shocking in the bright white light. Painted toys lay scattered across the floor around Maskelyne's son, who took one look at Briana and then crawled over to hide behind his mother's legs.

'As I understand it,' Maskelyne said, 'Colonel Granger has sunk your escort ships and is now dragging this vessel to some unknown destination.'

Briana opened her mouth to speak, but Maskelyne held up his hand.

'The harpoon is lodged in the Herald Herald's stern post below the waterline,' he went on, 'making it impossible to reach without diving equipment which, of course, you lack. Nevertheless, our kidnapper cannot board us, nor fire upon us without risking the life of his own dear child.'

'He's-' Briana tried to interject.

'Furthermore,' the metaphysicist added, 'Colonel Granger must a.s.sume that you have already summoned aid telepathically, and so he must act quickly. What, then, are his options?'

'Obviously,' Briana said, 'he's going to turn this kidnapping into a political statement.'

Maskelyne's eyes opened in mild surprise. 'Precisely,' he replied. 'How many cultures have found themselves liberated liberated because they could not afford the psychic services their own enemies relied upon?' His dark eyes gleamed. 'What do you imagine would happen, for example, if our renegade colonel decided to run the Haurstaf flagship aground on the Evensraum coast?' He smiled. 'Have you ever seen an animal carca.s.s lying across an ant trail? The bones are so clean they look like they've been polished.' because they could not afford the psychic services their own enemies relied upon?' His dark eyes gleamed. 'What do you imagine would happen, for example, if our renegade colonel decided to run the Haurstaf flagship aground on the Evensraum coast?' He smiled. 'Have you ever seen an animal carca.s.s lying across an ant trail? The bones are so clean they look like they've been polished.'

Briana smiled thinly.

'Would I be correct in a.s.suming you haven't contacted Awl yet?'

'I'm perfectly capable of dealing with this situation myself, Mr Maskelyne.'

'Well, quite,' he said. 'We wouldn't want your sisters to think you incapable, would we?'

Briana felt her face redden. 'Be careful, Mr Maskelyne. You are in no position to lecture others.'

'I apologize,' Maskelyne said. 'I meant no disrespect.'

'Of course not,' Briana replied. She placed her hands on her hips and gazed around the room, thinking. Jontney peered out from behind his mother's legs, but Lucille avoided her eyes. Finally, she faced Maskelyne again. 'Well, what do you propose?'

He indicated the door. 'If I can just have access to my equipment?'

The Unmer artefacts salvaged from the deadship had been packed into crates and stacked across the breadth of the Herald Herald's hold, lashed down under oilcloth. Maskelyne immediately began untying cords and pulling the coverings aside. While Briana waited nearby, the metaphysicist uncovered boxes of telescopes and prisms, and nautical instruments taken from the Unmer ironclad, along with crates of brine-damaged goods that looked more like seabed trove. Finally, he gave a grunt of surprise and pulled something out. It was a heavy iron ring, wrapped in wire and covered in grey dust. He blew away some of the dust and held it up.

'What is that?' she asked.

'An amplifier,' Maskelyne replied. 'It uses one form of energy to amplify another.' He turned it over in his hands. 'I strongly recommend you throw it over the side before all the fresh produce aboard begins to rot.' He set the ring down again and continued rummaging around in the trove for a while longer. Eventually he gave a sigh. 'My blunderbuss,' he said. 'It isn't here.'

Briana shook her head. 'I've no idea where it is.'

'It was in a long, narrow box,' he said, 'packed with crespic salts to keep it cold.'

'They might have put it in the arms locker.'

Briana summoned the lieutenant at arms, who led them to the arms locker, where they did indeed locate a box fitting Maske-lyne's description. The metaphysicist opened the lid and took out the weapon. It was made of bra.s.s and dragon-bone, with a dark gla.s.s phial fitted underneath the stock. Curls of ice smoke rose from its flared barrel.

Maskelyne grinned like someone who had encountered an old friend. 'Perfect,' he said. 'We'll have that line off in an instant.'

Briana frowned. 'You plan to shoot it?'

'I do.'

'With that that old thing?' old thing?'

He nodded.

She felt like she'd been swindled. 'That's your great plan?'

'This old thing old thing is no ordinary weapon,' Maskelyne said, holding the gun towards her. 'This phial contains Unmer void flies.' is no ordinary weapon,' Maskelyne said, holding the gun towards her. 'This phial contains Unmer void flies.'

A moment of silence pa.s.sed between them.

'Crespic salts are used to regulate the temperature of the ammunition,' Maskelyne said. 'Once frozen inside this phial, the flies remain quite inactive. The barrel is designed to act as a thermal gradient along which the flies are induced to pa.s.s once the phial is punctured, thus creating a directional vortex of considerable destructive force, while preserving both the weapon and its operator from harm.'

'You brought void flies void flies aboard my vessel?' aboard my vessel?'

'Your crew brought them aboard.'

'And you didn't think to tell anyone tell anyone about it?' Briana lifted her hands in exasperation. 'What would have happened if they'd got loose?' She shuddered to imagine the bloodshed such an event would have caused a ship riddled with tiny holes; a about it?' Briana lifted her hands in exasperation. 'What would have happened if they'd got loose?' She shuddered to imagine the bloodshed such an event would have caused a ship riddled with tiny holes; a crew crew riddled with tiny holes. riddled with tiny holes.

Maskelyne grinned again. 'Now that we have established the worth of such a weapon in our present circ.u.mstances,' he said, 'we can start to negotiate a price.'

'A price price? For what exactly?'

'Void flies aren't exactly easy to come by, you know.'

The Herald Herald's engineers had constructed a wooden derrick overhanging her stern, allowing a man to be lowered down over the rear of the ship to the smashed rudder by way of a pulley system. First officer Lum looked on as two of the crew hauled their companion back up again.

The first officer snapped to attention as Briana and Maskelyne arrived. 'Ma'am.'

'What's the verdict, Mr Lum?' Briana asked.

'We've completed our first inspection now, Ma'am.'

The two sailors helped the man swinging from the derrick back onto the deck. He took off his brine goggles and gloves and faced Lum. 'The rudder's in bad shape, but it ought to give us some some manoeuvrability,' he said. 'That harpoon's in a tricky place though. Buried in solid from what I can see, about a foot under the waterline. I can't even get close to it because of the waves. I don't know how he got it in there using one of those old Ferredales. It's either the luckiest shot or the finest piece of marksmanship I've ever seen.' manoeuvrability,' he said. 'That harpoon's in a tricky place though. Buried in solid from what I can see, about a foot under the waterline. I can't even get close to it because of the waves. I don't know how he got it in there using one of those old Ferredales. It's either the luckiest shot or the finest piece of marksmanship I've ever seen.'

'Can you hook the line?' Lum said. 'Pull it up?'

The other man shrugged. 'You've got the full weight of the Herald Herald pulling against it, sir. We might be able to rig something up, but we'd brisk tearing off the whole stern post. Then you'd be looking at a hull breach.' pulling against it, sir. We might be able to rig something up, but we'd brisk tearing off the whole stern post. Then you'd be looking at a hull breach.'

Maskelyne leaned on his blunderbuss and peered down over the side of the ship. He lifted his head, following the line of cable across the waters to the steam yacht some distance away. Then he raised the gun to his shoulder and sighted on the yacht.

'Wait!' Briana said. 'What are you doing?'

'Two birds,' Maskelyne said. 'One stone. If I sever the cable at this end, Granger will merely lose his catch. But if I shoot it out at the other end, the flies will pa.s.s through the cable, the ship and anything inside inside the ship. We'll leave him with a thousand tiny holes in his hull and, with any, luck, one or two in his own skull.' the ship. We'll leave him with a thousand tiny holes in his hull and, with any, luck, one or two in his own skull.'

'That's got to be two hundred yards. Let one of my marksmen take the shot.'

'Accuracy is not required,' Maskelyne said. 'This weapon produces a vortex of flies.'

'You might miss the cable altogether.'

Maskelyne lowered the gun and turned to face her. 'You haven't seen one of these weapons discharge, Miss Banks. A stream of void flies is quite unstoppable. Were I to fire this straight down, the shot would pa.s.s straight through the world and out the other side. With the right trajectory, I could easily, from my present location, reduce any city on this planet to rubble.' He moistened his lips. 'Now, will you please stand aside and let me take the shot before the phial thaws out?'

The crewmen and their first officer looked at Briana for an explanation, but she didn't feel inclined to provide one. She stepped back as Maskelyne raised the gun to his shoulder again. Then she took another step back.

A click click came from the blunderbuss. came from the blunderbuss.

And then a hazy jet of black particles erupted from its flared barrel, crackling like fat in a frying pan as it sped away across the sea. The wind howled suddenly in Briana's ears. She watched as the stream of flies widened into a spiralling, cone-shaped vortex that momentarily engulfed Granger's steam yacht and then abruptly disappeared into the sea with a furious popping sound. The deck under her feet pitched forward suddenly and then rocked backwards as the whole ship slowed to a halt. The towing cable had been severed.

Briana could smell ozone lingering in the air.

Maskelyne lowered his gun, then turned to her and smiled. 'Tell your captain to raise the sails,' he said.

Something woke Granger, although at first he could not say exactly what. He had been dreaming of Evensraum, finding himself pushing through the crowds of refugees fleeing Weaverbrook after the bombardment. They'd been shuffling across ashen fields, ragged figures heading away from the burning town. Granger had been trying to find Ianthe, although in reality she hadn't yet been born. He had felt compelled to search nevertheless, calling out her name, desperate to find this girl that he knew did not exist.

As his bleary eyes took in his surroundings the navigation console, the helm, the tangle of red sheets around his legs he perceived that something was wrong. The quality of light here in the bridge seemed different somehow. It felt colder than it should. He realized he could no longer hear the sound of the yacht's engines.

He sat up, aware of a dull stiffness in his joints and noticed blood on his right elbow. Tiny puncture marks had appeared on both sides of the joint, as though a needle had been pushed right through him. The wound began to nip at once. He felt a second p.r.i.c.kling sensation in his right ear, and lifted a hand to examine it. His fingers came away b.l.o.o.d.y. The top of the ear was bleeding, too.

He got up and flexed his limbs and as he did so he noticed light shining through numerous perforations in the bridge walls and windows. It looked like someone had blasted the walls with buckshot. He strode over to the window and examined a number of the little holes closely. The edges were sharp, with no cracks in the gla.s.s at all. Behind the gla.s.s the cold brown sea heaved against a leaden horizon. Thunderclouds towered in the west and in places he could see sheets of rain pinned against the sky like grey gauze. He opened the window and looked aft.